The Experience of Survival
by Apapazukamori
Summary: A survivor of the promised day searches for the answer to his question: Why?


**The Experience of Survival**

Once upon a time, I thought I knew what the world was like. Through the mists of mottled grey, it was still possible to distinguish black and white. Black was just a little darker than the norm. White... just a little lighter. I thought I knew what I would be doing ten, fifteen years down the road. I thought I knew who would be with me. 

Of course, then I met him, and everything changed. 

Nowadays, I don't have a vision of my future. I barely have vision at all; what I have is flat and decidedly lacking. 

Ten years ago, I should've died. 

A year ago, I should've died. 

Six months ago, I should've died. 

And yet, here I am. The freak survivor of a broken heart, a missed target and a collapsing tower. 

Somehow, I lived through them all. Even the cigarettes I smoke will never eventually kill me. 

I seem to be cursed with immortality. 

Perhaps I've committed too great a sin to ever hope to find redemption; perhaps the sin is too great for even Hell to punish. Perhaps I must find absolution here, among the masses trying to rebuild. 

Or it could simply be that the gods are cruel, and I've done nothing to deserve what has happened. 

But it really doesn't matter, in the long run. And it will be a very long run, I fear. 

And still, I want to know why. 

I contemplate this question often; I have for over a decade now, ever since my reflection broke apart under the force of his hand. I wonder why I am always the one to live through the destruction. I have searched for information about the Kamui, trying to discover what happened after the tower collapsed. The earth no longer howls and rips itself apart in its drive to destroy humanity, so I must assume that the Dragon of Heaven prevailed. 

Yet no one has heard from him in six months. 

Ise, Kouya and Mitsumine are as in the dark as I; their wise old heads shake quietly in apology. Two have their own losses to worry about, heirs to replace and graves to attend. The third has a wedding to prepare for. They don't ask why. For good or ill, their questions have been answered. 

The Imonoyama remains tight-lipped. Though he is younger than I, he has far more experience in keeping secrets, if he has any to keep at all. All he will say is that Kamui is not in his care. 

And so I drift through my existence, such as it is. I care for my charge, feeding it only as often as is necessary to keep it alive. I'm beginning to feel a bit of sympathy for it; we are very much alike now, the barrow and I. 

I am seeking its latest meal, this chilled July night, when I look up at the right time and see you, slipping from shadow to shadow. 

I don't know why I don't call to you, but I follow you nonetheless. 

Though you hide in the shadows -- they cling to you as if they belong in swirls around you, shielding and protecting you from the rest of the world -- you make no attempt at haste. A million questions run through my mind, but they are all drowned out by the WHY. And I have to know... 

"Kamui." 

You stop, showing no hint of surprise as you wait for me to catch up. I'm within arms' reach, but I feel as if I am worlds away. You feel different than the last time I saw you; the sense of authority still reigns in your broad shoulders, but it has been tempered. Your aura shifts between one shade and another. Both are familiar to me. Now I have more than one "why" to ask. When you feel I am close enough, you begin walking again, hands tucked neatly in your pockets, the breeze stirring your hair to hide your eyes. You don't seem as... big as you once were. I was -- and still am -- taller by a good three or four inches, the only benefit of my age I suppose, but you always appeared a great deal larger than those around you. Perhaps it is because you spent a great deal of time towering over those on their knees, hovering above everyone else from a high ledge so no one would reach you. 

You didn't need any such tricks with your counterpart, did you? 

I wonder if he trembled in your shadow before he died. 

You seem to have an inkling of my thoughts as we pass along the sidewalk, unnoticed by those around us. There is something resembling a smile on your face, though it is out of place and I don't know why. I'm not surprised that you're here, though I am curious as to why the kekkai that remained afterward still stand to this day. I remember falling faster than I ever thought possible, the support under my wounded body crumbling and taking me with it. I remember being more relieved than afraid; falling to my death wasn't the worst way to die, after all. Somewhere during the fall, my wounds and the rush of fear made me pass out and I sunk willingly into the black, thinking that I wouldn't have to see the sunshine again. 

But I woke sometime later, and I did. I also saw you. 

We seem to have reached wherever you were going, because you stop and finally turn to face me. "One question's all you get." The smile has become a smirk, an expression much more at home on your face, however briefly it appears. Something about it makes me think that it's been a very long time since you've smiled at all. 

I briefly consider trying to lump everything into a single, long-winded question; you'd always had more knowledge of Fate's inner workings and destinations than anyone else, save the Princess and your own yumemi. It's more than likely that you saw well beyond the Final Day, to what could come for those who remained. But instead I glance up at the stars and see the glimmer of the Seven Stars and wonder why all of them still wink so merrily in the heavens. By rights, four should be dimmer or even gone. But nothing works out the way it should in reality; far be it for the mythology behind it all to play fair. 

"Why?" 

I can't see your face, but I can't believe you wouldn't have anticipated my question; it's the only one I really could've asked. You have your choice of answers, but perhaps you see the deep-down desire, as you always have. I glance back down at you, giving you a captive audience before you give me my response. Though you're looking right at me, your sight is somewhere else. Within, perhaps, or lost in memory. 

"Because he liked you." 

You turn then, without hurrying, and make your way off into the shadows. You leave me with more questions than answers, and a disturbing feeling that I might very well be losing my mind. For a moment, I thought your eyes were violet. 

---- 

Three days have passed, and I am still thinking of you. Admittedly, my thoughts are clouded with more annoyance than wonder, for I am starting to wish that I'd never seen you that night. I have "who" in addition to the "why," though I am not sure if I really want to know which "he" you were referring to. Neither helps salve my wounds now that both are dead. Still, you had to tell me something, because you cheated me out of my chance to put my tired, tired mind to rest for good. 

But surely, you didn't have to be so _vague_. 

Then again, perhaps you did. You were always very similar to him in that respect; talking out of both sides of your mouth, murmuring whole truths that could only be half-realized, since no one knew as much as you. I always hated him for that, especially at the end. I've had to endure seeing a little bit of him in you, more poignant than ever with him gone. So you leave me chasing my mental tail, undoubtedly congratulating yourself because you are so clever. 

I couldn't stop him from leaving without an explanation. However, you are not so lucky. 

I know now why it was so hard to find you, even with my skills. I never knew you before you came into your power and therefore only associated you with one specific signature. Perhaps you have returned to your original form, one mixed with violence and anger and serenity and fear and sorrow. Perhaps I feel it is familiar because I know all too well what all those emotions feel like, rolled into a frame much too small to contain them. You and your counterpart really were very much the same, in the end. 

But now that I know what I have to look for, finding you is as simple as breathing. I've watched you all day, sensing your movements, though I can't exactly see you. You spend hours in one place, only moving every so often, and never for long. I choose one of those times you leave your haven to meet you again. Maybe you're out picking up some groceries, some medicine or something to read. You make several stops, visit five or six shops, but you walk out of every place empty-handed. It intrigues me more than it should. Now I have "what" to add to the "why" and "who." 

Keeping you in sight, I choose to follow you rather than make myself known. The last time I made the mistake of approaching you, my curiosity got the better of me and all I received from that was more curiosity. So now, I think I will just watch you for a little while. Your face is pinched tight with concentration today, your steps heavier. Do you feel uncomfortable in the light? Is it unfamiliar to you when you spend your time shrouded inside or in the night's blanketing shadows? 

I watch from across the street as you enter another pharmacy. You couldn't have been out of sight for more than a minute before you emerge again, holding a brown paper bag a little larger than your hand. Are you sick? Has what made you "Kamui" deserted you after Fate's task was complete? Or maybe you were never as invincible as we all thought. Maybe you are disappointingly human after all. After finding whatever you have been searching for, you walk with purpose, ignoring the people who scramble to get out of your way. I can't see your face, but the intensity of your thoughts must be frightening. 

You make a left turn, then a right and then another left down a narrow, pedestrians-only street. The rebuilt high rises of Shinjuku loom around us, blocking the sun and giving off a claustrophobic feel. You reach the door of one of them and pause, turning around to look at me. Startled by your expression, I take a half step back. I don't know your condition, what's become of your abilities or your penchant for destruction, but I don't want to find out this way. I'm in your debt, actually. I didn't know I could still feel fear. After a heartbeat, the truly violent notions melt from your eyes, leaving only tense resignation. Without a word, you turn and head inside, leaving the door ajar in your wake. I make sure to close it as I follow you up the stairs. 

You say nothing as we climb higher, and though I know you haven't forgotten my steps as they echo yours, you give me no further acknowledgement. Seven floors... eight... nine... I have to pause to catch my breath when we stop, finally, at the tenth floor. You pause for a second and then continue to the end of the row of apartments. The view from this floor is nice, though nothing spectacular other than being very high off the ground. You seem to still have the desire to tower over everyone else; I'd be surprised if you didn't camp out on the roof from time to time. 

The inside of your apartment is in shambles, evidence of six months of apathy piled high in every corner. Clothing litters the floor, papers, cartons and dozens of empty pill bottles. The air has a distinct medicinal tang to it and if I didn't intimately understand the nature of apathy, I would be amazed that you weren't trying for a more sanitary living space. You toe off your shoes and finally feel like paying attention to me, for you turn and look me over with a sigh. "You were only supposed to have one question." 

I feel my eyebrow lift. "Your answer was decidedly unsatisfying, Kamui." 

You snort and step up onto the grass-matted floor. I pity the person who will have to clean those mats when you die. You don't wait for me to follow; the apartment isn't that large and you already know I will. The medicine smell becomes stronger the closer I come to the bedroom and now I can feel the deathlike chill that has seeped into the walls. As you slide open the door, I stare at your tight-lipped expression and just _know_. 

You're not the one who's dying. 

Though when I see the prone form in the bed, I can tell you wish you were. And so do I. 

The bedroom is the cleanest part of the apartment, though that isn't saying much. There's barely enough space for a bed and a chair; there's no room for anything to be out of order. Above your head, an air conditioner chugs away quietly, blowing a cool breeze. It doesn't reach the limp brown hair or the long eyelashes that hide eyes the color of a twilight sky. Violet eyes. The same ones I thought I saw on you a few days ago. Instinctively, I reach out and touch his cheek and pull back instantly as the skin bruises under the light touch. He is covered with such marks, and I can assume most of them are yours, from caring for him. One more bit of irony. And yet the fading bruises are not what disturb me the most. Even the brief touch was enough for me to find that he's little more than a breathing corpse; his spirit long gone. 

You offer no explanations as we stand here, though the questions are inevitable. "Where is he now?" I ask, though I'm only looking for you to confirm what I already know. It's written in your face. 

You tap your temple and your smile redefines "bitter." "He found a way to win." 

I close my eyes, imagining his firm resolution, and maybe a glimpse of tenderness as he did what no one thought he could, managing to save Humanity and the both of you all at once. I can't help but be proud of him. I have no idea where he learned such a skill, though perhaps the ability to offer a complete sacrifice is innate to the Kamui. 

Not about to let me distract you, you go about your work, pulling out another bottle of pills from your paper bag and breaking the seal. You tap out a pair of white pills and break them apart in your hand. I'm surprised at how gentle you are as you pour the medicine and water mixture down his throat, being careful to keep him from choking. "He caught something yesterday," you explain, though I wonder if you're just talking to yourself. "This morning he had a fever. His shoulder keeps getting infected." I look down and see a plain of white linen spreading across his chest and down his arm. 

I ask you if that is your doing and you only shrug, as if to say "I had to." Indeed you did, those months ago; I do not doubt that you had no idea what your Gemini had planned. I wonder what you think of it. Especially now, when your energy must be completely focused on what is left of him. Despite the fact that the slightest brush of your fingers marks him, you continue to try and not be too rough. It's too ironic for words. 

You thought nothing of giving him that wound and now you must do everything in your power to keep him from dying of it. 

Because that's the way of it, isn't it? You can't even put him out of both your miseries without undoing everything he worked for. You have to let him waste away in front of your eyes. Truly, the gods are cruel; I've never been fond of you, but I can hardly say you deserve this. And though I feel this, there is no point in telling you. You're like me, beyond the reach of sympathy and the comfort of compassion. 

I don't say goodbye as I leave, picking my way across the wreckage of your lives and trying not to disrupt anything. I wind down the stairs without really seeing them. I believe I have come back to where I started, having had some of my curiosity sated while gathering a new web of questions around myself. The need for "why" has quieted, since I have the only answer I am ever likely to receive and I am torn between my reactions to it. Seeing what I have today, I cannot bring myself to be too upset at your counterpart. If anything, he loved us both entirely too much. 

Stepping out into the bright afternoon sunshine, I feel out of place and all too soon return to my home and the welcome snap the curtains make as they shut out the world in which I no longer belong. 

---- 

A fire engine races past as I make my way down the sidewalk, the siren filling the air with pre-emptory mourning wails. Living in a city, one eventually learns to tune out such noise. The blaze isn't in my building, I can ignore it. The sounds die off the farther I am from the high rises, all but forgotten as I make a note to pick up another pack of cigarettes. 

The department store beside the vending machine area has a row of televisions on display. The glowing screens are a mix of red and orange as an unsteady camera focuses on a somber looking figure with a microphone. I tap the cellophane-covered cardboard box against my palm and pause to indulge yet another curiosity. 

"_--even trucks are here behind me, with more on the way, and the fire's still going. According to witnesses, the blaze started in the basement, just after nightfall, and by the time firefighters arrived, the whole building was in flames. If you've just tuned in, a huge fire has broken out in an apartment building near the heart of Shinjuku. Though police and fire crews say though the fire doesn't seem to be threatening the surrounding buildings, many residents in the area have been evacuated. Reports are that the building's tenants managed to get out before the fire spread, though we do emphasize that it's just too early to know for sure._" 

I turn away from the television and continue on my way. The barrow has begun to stir and I must not keep it waiting all night. 


End file.
